Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket (25 page)

That next morning when Jago came with breakfast (more cold slop), he was called out into the corridor by an orderly barking instructions about cleaning the pots in the kitchen when he was done. I was sitting on the ground, scratching at the skin around the shackle on my right ankle. It was violently itchy. As was my hair. Fleas were a distinct possibility.

I heard the sound of footsteps. And voices. Perhaps Professor Ploomgate had come to see me! I was just getting to my feet when I saw the Professor and a young woman walk briskly by. They were deep in conversation and did not glance my way.

The girl had shiny brown hair worn up. A dazzling white dress. And a matching feather hat. And she looked remarkably
like Estelle Dumbleby. But that was quite impossible. What would she be doing here? Then a thrilling thought burst into my mind – she had noticed I was missing and was on the hunt for me!

I ran at speed towards the corridor. ‘Estelle, it’s me, your dear friend!’

Three things happened quickly. First, the chain reached its end, the shackle digging into my ankle and stopping me cold. Second, the orderly charged into the small cell and put his calloused hand over my mouth. Third, Jago slammed the door shut.

After that, all I heard was the madwoman humming.

Matilda came on the thirteenth day.

I suspect she was there to gloat with Lady Elizabeth’s blessing. I could not imagine her dropping by without it. Matilda had on a yellow muslin dress. Her black hair flared with splashes of scarlet in the candlelight. She told the orderly to leave and shut the door.

‘Well, Pocket, how do you like your new home?’ She did not get too close. ‘Grandmother hopes you are settling in nicely.’

I patted down my hair as if it were not a greasy tangle. ‘It’s
really rather wonderful,’ I said brightly. ‘Haven’t had this much time to myself since I spent that summer by the Hudson River in a locked box. And the food is remarkable.’

‘You are miserable, admit it.’

‘Stuff and nonsense. Look around, dear, I have this gloriously creepy cell, a constant stream of lunatics bellowing about their troubles, there’s at least three ghosts wandering about the place dragging ball and chains – and that is not even the
best
part.’

My smile was mischievous. As if I had a delicious secret.

Matilda was frowning. She didn’t want to ask. Not for anything. But how could she not?

‘What is the best part?’ she demanded to know.

I cupped my ear for effect. And sure enough, amongst the shrieks and hollering, you could hear her pretty tune.

‘It’s just some lunatic humming,’ said Matilda, folding her arms.

‘But don’t you see? This is the perfect place to write my great gothic novel – there is inspiration in the very mould on the walls, the rats at my feet, and the slop in my bowl.’

‘Nice try, Pocket,’ said Matilda with a sneer, ‘but you haven’t any paper.’

‘I’m writing it in my head, dear. All the best novelists do these days.’

‘Sounds utterly mental – you deserve to be locked up.’ She paused. She seemed to be trying to find the right words. ‘Listen, Pocket, I’m not saying I believe a word of what you said the other day, but I want you to tell me about Rebecca. Tell me everything from the beginning and do not stop until you were thrown into the carriage in Hyde Park.’

‘All right.’

And that is just what I did. Leaving no detail out. When I was done, Matilda looked past me to the dank wall. Then down at the floor. Then the flea-ridden bed.

‘Why should I believe you?’ she asked at last.

It was an excellent point. I only had one answer.

‘Because you know that a girl simply doesn’t shrivel up and die when she puts on a necklace. The Clock Diamond can do wondrous and wicked things. But unless I get it back from the beastly pair of nincompoops who have it, I won’t be able to reach Rebecca and bring her home.’

‘Grandmother wants you to rot in this place.’

‘And what do you want, dear?’

She frowned as if the idea had never occurred to her before. Then the malice returned to her pretty blue eyes. ‘Nice try, Pocket.’

I missed the sky terribly. Sometimes it was all that I could think about. My cell had no windows and the only way I could tell whether it was day or night was by the delivery of breakfast and dinner. So I would imagine it – a full moon and a scattering of stars. Or a sunrise over London, dappling the streets in ginger.

Sleep eluded me. So I lay there in the dark. The humming lady had gone mercifully quiet. I scratched at my arms to soothe the itching flea bites. Wondered about Matilda’s visit. Wishing I’d said something more.

The bolt of my cell door suddenly slid back. It was quieter than usual. Slower too. I jumped to my feet. Clenched my fists as I prepared to do battle. Who was coming upon me in the dead of night?

Soft light bled into the room as the door opened. Followed by a short figure – the light pushed around him, but I could not see his face. He carried something in his arms.

‘I’ve pummelled bigger men than you, shorty,’ I declared, ‘so be warned!’

The figure closed the door, casting the cell into darkness again. I heard the rustle of clothes. Then the strike of a match. The flame found a candle held in his hand and its glow leapt all over his face.

I stepped forward. ‘What are you doing here? Dinner was over hours ago.’

Jago was holding a dark cape. But he seemed slightly lost for words.

‘Oh, you delightful street urchin,’ I said, taking the cape and fixing it around my neck, ‘you have brought me this to warm myself against the cold night.’ I yawned. ‘What time is it?’

‘After eight.’

‘It’s been such a horrid day and I expect I’ve been rather short with you since you helped that brute silence me.’

‘I’m right sorry about that,’ he said bashfully. ‘It’s the job, that’s all. If I didn’t help they might get to thinking I was doing special favours for you and such. Now listen –’

‘Perfectly understandable. As I told you when that buffoon took his hand away from my mouth, I thought perhaps I saw a dear friend of mine. But that couldn’t be –’

‘Won’t you hush for a second, chatterbox? We haven’t much time.’

‘Time for what?’ I said rather sullenly.

‘I’m fixing to get you out of this place.’

I gasped with shock and delight. ‘When? Tonight?’

Jago crouched down, pulled out a set of keys, and proceeded to unlock the shackle at my ankle. With that I was freed. He stood up and held out his grimy hand. And I took it.

Twenty minutes. That’s all we had. Twenty minutes to break out of this fortress. The keys that unlocked the side door and the back gate hung on a hook in the watchman’s office. He used them to check all of the doors and gates – every hour on the hour. The rest of the time he dozed at his desk.

Jago had waited until he nodded off, then expertly lifted the keys. But in twenty minutes, when the clock in his office chimed nine o’clock, the watchman would wake and reach for those keys. And when he discovered they were not there he would sound the alarm.

‘There won’t be no second chances,’ said Jago as we slipped out into the corridor, ‘so keep close.’

‘Right behind you,’ I said softly.

A few candles burned on brackets along the dank hallway. We moved swiftly, the cries and taunts of lost souls making it hard to hear anything else. Luckily, Jago did.

We were at the end of the corridor when he stopped me.
Stuck his nose around the corner then shot back.

‘It’s Matron!’ he hissed. ‘Blimey, we’re done for.’

‘Jago, is that you?’ called the Matron sternly.

The poor boy turned pale (well, as pale as his skin would allow). Thinking with the kind of crafty quick-wittedness you might expect from a seasoned criminal, I rushed to the nearest door, drew back the bolt and slipped inside.

Jago hastily closed the door behind me. Through the wall I heard the sound of Matron scolding him for wandering about the halls when he should be upstairs scrubbing pots.

Inside the room all was darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light as I edged into the corner. It hadn’t occurred to me that there might be some danger in choosing to hide in the cell of a mental patient. There hadn’t been time.

As the darkness gradually yielded to shadows and shapes, I could just make out a bed against the far wall and a figure upon it. I could hear their slow breath and supposed they were asleep. But a sudden shriek from a nearby cell changed that.

First, there was the rustle of a chain. A gasp. Then she started to hum. The rich melody of her voice seemed to slither through my ears and track about my body. There was something glorious and haunting in it.

‘
Mmmm mm mmmm mm
,’ she hummed.

I stepped forward as softly as I could. As I did, the dark
light around her seemed to lift, offering a faint glimpse. What a sight it was! Long matted hair covered her face like a curtain. She wore a nightgown that I am sure at one time had been white. Her feet were bare and black with soot. And she was hugging herself tightly. The music stopped suddenly. She lifted her head as a wolf might and I heard her sniff the air.

I backed away, retreating to my corner. I wasn’t scared, but something else. Something I could neither name nor understand.

‘Hello, dear,’ I said softly.

She drew back, her chains rattling.

‘I mean no harm,’ I whispered next. ‘I have been listening to you hum these past thirteen days and when it wasn’t driving me batty, it was perfectly lovely. You have tremendous pitch for a lunatic.’

‘
Mmmm mm mmmm mm
,’ she began again.

Then the door opened swiftly and Jago appeared. But the woman did not pause and her melody covered our voices as I rushed towards him.

‘That was close,’ said Jago. ‘Someone posh from the board’s come by unexpected and they’re all in a flap. Come, we haven’t much time.’

‘Goodbye,’ I whispered to the music maker.

I stepped out into the corridor, Jago bolting the door behind us.

Then we took off again down the passageway. Turned at the far end and ran until we reached a set of back stairs. Once there, the boy did a most unexpected thing. He took the keys and placed them in my hands.

A frown creased my forehead. ‘Are you not coming down with me?’

He ignored the question. ‘You go down these stairs and follow the hall to the eastern door. Use this key to unlock it. From there it’s a short dash across the yard to the back gate. Use
this
one to unlock that – then run for your life.’

‘But if I take the keys you won’t be able to put them back before the alarm is raised.’

‘It’s too late for that now,’ said the boy. ‘I’ll make a racket when I get upstairs and ring the bell myself – then I’ll point them in the wrong direction.’

‘But what if they find out what you’ve done?’

‘I’m a smart one, chatterbox, they’ll never know it’s me.’

‘Why are you helping me?’

‘’Cause you don’t belong here.’

I hugged the little ragamuffin and took off down the stairs.

My instructions were simple enough and I followed them well. At the bottom of the stairs I found a long passageway with
a door at the end. I took off at speed. My eyes fixed on the path to freedom.